


"I do not blame you."

by themadshatter



Category: Bourne (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:43:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadshatter/pseuds/themadshatter
Summary: Inspired by the scene in the Bourne Supremacy in which Jason tells Irena Neski that he killed her parents. I was intrigued by Irena's character, even though her screen time was very brief. I wanted to explore what kind of relationship she and Jason would develop given the chance. It's an alternate story line/ending to the movie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for choosing to read my work. This is actually my first fic, so I'm pretty nervous and excited.  
> The summary should give you all the background you need, but the fic opens with the scene in the Bourne Supremacy in which Jason is waiting in Irena Neski's apartment to talk to her. The whole fic is told from her point of view.

It had been a long day, and I was weary. I tried to keep my back straight, hearing my mother’s voice in my subconscious: “Stand tall always. Even when you are tired.” But my head drooped. I couldn’t help it.  
I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped in, hanging up my coat and opening the second door to the living room. I flipped on the light, and that’s when I saw him. A man. A big man. An American. Sitting in one of the chairs in my living room.  
I gasped and pressed my back to the door. In Russian he told me to me quiet, and directed me to sit down. I hesitated, but he insisted, so I did it, never taking my eyes off of him. But then I saw the gun in his bloody hand, and it took all of my attention. Seeing my eyes flit to the weapon, he moved it to his pocket. Able to breath again, I told him I spoke English, and so he switched to that language, promising that he wouldn’t hurt me. His voice was gentle, earnest. He said that I was older than he’d thought I would be. I didn’t understand that, but I was more concerned with the gun is his pocket. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the right side of his body. He looked at the unframed picture I had sitting on a side table, the one of my parents and I. He asked if it was important to me. I didn’t want to talk about it, told him it was just a picture.  
Then he began to insist that I didn’t know how my parents died. What did he mean! Of course I knew! Wasn’t I at the funerals? Didn’t I have to leave my big beautiful house and try to make my own way in the world? Didn’t I have recurring nightmares about my mother? Of course I knew. She had killed my father and then herself.  
And then, he said, “I would want to know that my mother didn’t kill my father.”  
What?  
He blinked rapidly. “I killed them.” it came out slowly, and then, faster, “I killed them.”  
I could hear my breath shaking.  
He kept talking, telling me the killing was his job, and that this incident had been his first mission. That my father was supposed to be alone. But that something went wrong and my mother was there and he had to change his plan.  
I could barely breath. A tear rolled down my face.  
“It changes things, that knowledge, doesn’t it?” he asked. Tears spilled onto his cheeks, and his voice was shaking. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. “When what you love gets taken from you,” his voice changed pitch, “you want to know the truth.”  
He rose. I felt like I was suffocating, and, as he passed me, fear and disgust bubbled up in my chest. I felt him pause behind me, hesitating. "I’m sorry.”  
The disgust evaporated, leaving only a sort of dull terror and a feeling of being drowned.  
As he shut the door behind him, I turned, almost involuntarily, something in me wanting to call him back, wanting to know exactly what had happened, who this man was, why he had killed my family.  
Finally I got my nerve together and rushed to my balcony. Fom there I could see him, walking slowly away from the apartment building, his black clothes contrasting sharply with the snow. He was limping. I ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and into the cold. “Wait!” I cried. He turned quickly. I stopped in front of him, “Wait.” The tears were streaming down my face. “I have to know more. Please. I need to know what happened.”  
He glanced around. “I can tell you. But not here.” He looked apologetic.  
The terror quickened. He meant that he needed to come inside withe me. He saw my fear and reached for the gun in his pocket. I tensed. “No. No,” he said, holding the weapon out to me. “I won’t hurt you. I want you to take the gun. Then you can shoot me if I scare you.” His voice had turned caustic.  
Gingerly I weighed the gun in my hands. It was still warm from his, and there was blood on it. “Come on,” I murmured, leading him back to my apartment.  
He breathed hard on the stairs, and I could tell his injured leg was paining him. When we finally made it, I sat down again, and he began. He told me that he was an assassin for a secret American program. His name was Jason Bourne. He was ordered to kill my father because he (my father) was preparing to expose illegal acts with which Jason’s boss were involved. When he had finished, he knelt in front of me. “Irena,” he began softly, “is there anything I can do? Can I help you? Maybe get you to a better place?”  
“It won’t make up for anything.” I was surprised by my own hard words.  
“I know.”  
I dropped my head into my hands, unable to bear the intensity of his eyes. He rose.  
“Irena, I can’t stay. I put you in danger every second I am here.”  
I couldn’t answer, and he turned to go.  
He was halfway out my front door when I called him back. “Jason!” The American name bounced around my mouth, tasting foreign. “Let me look at your leg,” he turned, perplexed. “I saw you limping. You won’t get very far before they get you.”  
He eyed me, “What do you mean?”  
“I can tell you, but you have to let me look at your leg.”  
“Irena, I am putting you in danger right now. The sooner I leave, the safer you are.” He  
turned to go again.  
“Jason!” my voice was sharp. “I still have your gun. You are scaring me.”  
He turned, half smiling. “Where do you want me to sit?”  
I directed him to my kitchen table, instructing him to sit on it with his injured leg out in front of him. He tugged off his pants, leaving only his boxers. His knee was a purple-greenish swollen mass. I winced to look at it. I handed him a cushion from my couch, never meeting his eyes. “Put this under your knee,” I murmured.  
As he settled his leg as comfortably as possible, I found some frozen vegetables in the freezer. These I bound up with rags. Skittishly I returned to the table. “I need to put this on there. To keep the swelling down.”  
He nodded. “Ok.”  
He drew his breath in sharply when I placed the “ice pack” on his knee, and I jumped back, the vegetables falling to the floor.  
He looked at me sorrowfully. “I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you, Irena.”  
I bent to pick up the bag. “Here,” he held out his hand. “I can put it on myself.”  
“You should leave it on for twenty minutes.”  
“Alright. While I wait you can tell me what you meant by me not getting very far before before they catch me.”  
“I’ve seen men like you before,” I began. “Assassins, spies, that escaped from their ‘jobs.’ One day you see a new face on the street, a big man like you, looking around him all the time, restless. Next day he’s gone. And you know. They got him. They’re probably going to get you. But if you’re strong, maybe you can make it. If you’re limping, you won’t, for sure. You’ll be dead by tomorrow.”  
“Why do you care? Didn’t you hear what I told you? You should want me dead more than anyone.”  
“It would be a waste. You are trying to fix what you were forced to do. Already so many people have died.” I felt that suffocation again. “Why should you die when you are trying to make things right?”  
He looked at me for a long time, and didn’t speak.  
Eventually the twenty minutes passed, and Jason removed the ice. “Now we wait a little and then put it on again.” I said.  
“No, we don’t,” Jason countered. “I need to go. The farther I am away from here, the safer you are.” He paused, and then continued, apologetically, “Do you have anything I could wrap this with?”  
“I don’t have any bandages.”  
“Alright. I’ll make it.”  
“You need to rest it.”  
“I need to go.” he replied, rising. “Can I have my gun back?” I gestured to the side table, where his gun still sat. He picked it up and then turned to me, his face serious. “Irena, look at me,” he commanded. I raised my eyes to his. “Sometime soon some policemen or something might show up at your door. They are going to ask if you have seen me. You will tell them that yes, you have, but that I forced you to help me, threatened to kill you if you didn’t. Tell them I left when you were sleeping. You have no idea where I went.”  
I nodded. “Repeat it back to me.” he ordered. I did, and he seemed satisfied. “Thank you, Irena.” his voice had turned soft. “Goodbye.” And he was gone.  
Wearily I trudged toward my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed. I lay on my side, eyes wide open, thoughts swirling. Jason’s confession had opened wounds anew, and I could feel the blood pouring out of me. And yet, there was relief in the pain. Finally I could mourn my mother and father without feeling guilty for my sadness. I no longer had to blame my mother for my pain. This new sorrow was bitter, bitter as gall, but there was a sweetness to it, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone :)  
> ...if anyone's still reading...  
> I don't have much to say except, of course, thank you for reading. You don't know how much I appreciate it.   
> Also, if you like it, tell me so.   
> And please be constructive in your criticism, if you have any. I'm already hard enough on myself.

I woke with a start. Someone was knocking on my door. I rose, and took a deep breath, preparing myself to meet whoever was outside my flat.   
I opened the door slowly and came face to face with two large officers, armed heavily and dressed in black. They were Russian. “Irena Neski?” they asked. I nodded. “Have you seen this man?” one of them held up a picture of Jason.   
“Yes,” I murmured. “He came in here last night. He aimed a gun at my head and told me to help him with the injury in his leg. After I finished, I must have fallen asleep. He is not here now. I don’t know where he went.”   
“We need to search the apartment.” They pushed past me and began tearing my flat apart. I watched silently, afraid to say anything more.   
After they had made a complete mess of my place and found nothing, they approached me. “We’ll need to take you into custody. For questioning.”   
I gasped. “Questioning” never panned out quite like you’d thought it would. I wouldn’t be coming home for a long time.   
But I didn’t resist. I knew it would do no good.   
As they were taking my arms to “escort” me out of the building, something came flying through the glass door that led to my balcony.   
Or rather, someone.   
Jason took out both policemen, not killing them but incapacitating them indefinitely. I stared at him, my mind whirling.   
He turned to me. “Irena,” his voice was gentle, but charged with intensity. “That won’t be the last of them. We need to go.”   
“But-”   
“I am not leaving you here. I will not have you hurt because of me. Come on.” he encircled by bicep with his hand, propelling me through the front door.   
I shuddered at his touch, last night’s fear returning. But I let him lead me out of the building. We circled it at a run and found the waiting car. “Get in,” Jason ordered. I hesitated, “Irena.” The same gentleness, the same intensity.   
I got in.   
He began to drive, fast. Somehow we made it out of the city without being followed. When we were safely on the freeway, I summoned enough courage to ask, “Where are we going?”   
“Kiev. We’ll spend the night somewhere near there. Then we get out of eastern Europe, into Germany, and you should be safe. They won’t search too hard for you.”   
“Why should they want me?”  
“They need to know if you are an accomplice, if I told you anything, what you know.”  
“I told them exactly what you said to say.”   
“I know.” He looked at me. “I’m sorry, Irena.”  
What was he sorry for? The police coming to my apartment? His effort to keep me safe? The fact that I was leaving my homeland for God knew how long? I had no answer for him.   
There was silence for a long time. I wanted so desperately to sleep, but was afraid to. Yesterday, today, had been so full of emotions and sorrow and tears that my very soul was tired. I wanted to fall into a deep sleep and forget it all, to wake up in my own bed, to be able to think clearly and sort things out. But how could I sleep with this man so near to me? He could bat an eyelash, and I would be dead. I had to try and stay awake. Somehow I felt that that would keep me safe.   
To fend off the fatigue, I asked, “Why did you come back?”   
“I didn’t feel good about leaving you there. I had a feeling-turns out I was right.” He glanced at me and must have noticed that the circles around my eyes had grown larger. “You can go to sleep, Irena. I won’t hurt you.”   
I didn’t answer, but he reached into the backseat and found a worn blanket. “Here. Go to sleep. It will help,”   
The blanket acted as some sort of sleep-inducing drug. Its warm softness on my skin lulled me into a dreamless sleep.   
\--  
When I woke, it was dark. Jason was still driving, bleary eyed. “I can drive too. So you can sleep,” I offered.   
He shook his head. “I need to stay awake to keep a lookout for anyone on our trail. Driving helps me keep my eyes open.”   
“What time is it?”   
“Only five. You slept for about four hours. Do you feel better?”   
“Yes.”   
“Are you hungry?”   
“Yes.”   
“Good.”   
He pulled off the highway and found a small convenience store. “Ok, Irena.” He handed me a jacket. “Put this on. Pull the hood up. You’re gonna go in the store and get some dye for your hair. Dark brown or something. We have to change the color so you’re harder to track. And you’re gonna get food. Do not speak to anyone if you don’t have to. Don’t look anyone full in the face.”   
I was perplexed. Why was I the one doing this?   
He continued speaking. “I need you to go in there because you are less recognizable. I will be right outside. You will be fine.” he handed me a wad of hryvnia, Ukrainian currency. “Those should cover it.”   
I took the money and exited the car, pulling up the hood of the jacket and hunching my shoulders as I entered the store. I found the dye first, and then tackled the food section. I chose two round, red apples, a large bag of chips, two small cartons of milk, and a package of cookies. The lady at the counter greeted me in Ukrainian, so I just smiled faintly and paid quickly. I almost sprinted to the car, but remembered that I needed to be subtle and forced myself to walk. Jason was waiting, an expectant look on his face. When I was seated again, I showed him our purchases. His eyes glinted at the sight of the food. “I tried to get things that wouldn’t spoil,” I apologized. “I know it won’t be that filling,”   
He smiled at me. “You did good, Irena.”   
I handed him his apple and milk, and opened the cookies and chips and placed them on the console so we could both get at them. Jason began driving again. “We still have about six hours to go,” he said around a chunk of apple.   
“Ok.”   
There was silence for a while, until I heard that voice in my subconscious again. Be polite. “Thank you, Jason. For the food,” I said.   
He gave me a sidelong glance and smiled.   
We didn’t speak, and ate steadily until all the food was gone. Sleep threatened again, and this time, I succumbed to it without a fight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who his still here! :D I hope you enjoy it...

“Irena. Irena. Irena.”   
“Hmmm.”   
“We’re here.”   
“What? Oh.” I opened my eyes only to be blinded by a neon sign illuminating a tumbledown hole of a place that I assumed was supposed to be some sort of hotel.   
“I need you to go and get us a room.” He handed me some more money.   
I nodded, afraid to tell him that I didn’t speak Ukrainian. I hoped the people here could speak Russian.   
\--  
I returned to the car with the keys to our room. The woman at the desk had spoken a bit of Russian, so I was able to make myself understood. Jason followed me up a dark stairwell, and I unlocked the door to our room. Flipping on the light, we found that it was small and dingy, with two cot-like beds and a small bathroom. As my eyes roved over the place, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I was going to have to share a room with this man?   
To distract myself from my nerves, I located the boxes of hair dye among our small pile of things and headed into the bathroom.   
I locked the door and began. I had dyed friends’ hair before, but never my own, so I wasn’t too confident. And I wasn’t about to ask Jason for help, so I went at it on my own. I tried to remember what I had done before, years ago, with my best friend and the cheapest brand of strawberry-blonde color we could find. You had to mix the two bottles in the box together, the dye and the solution, and then apply and comb it through all the hair. Once I had done this, my scalp started tingling. That unnerved me. I didn’t recall Anya, my friend, mentioning any pain on the head. I braved the it, however, waited for what felt like long enough, and began rinsing my hair out. The burning subsided, my scalp suddenly began to feel frozen. The hot water had run out.   
When I was finished, I towel-dried my hair and returned to the room. Jason was sitting on his bed, his head in his hands. When I came in, he spoke, never lifting his eyes from the floor. “Irena,” the gentleness and intensity remained, but his voice was deeply sorrowful. “What can I say to you? I come to your apartment, tell you-,” he paused. “What I told you,” he continued, “Think I’m doing what’s right. But then the cops try to take you to prison, so I come like some kind of misguided hero and take you to the Ukraine instead.” His voice mocked his words and the ludicrous situation they described.“I tell you that you’re gonna have to go to Germany.” He paused. “First I take away everyone you love, and then I take you from your homeland.” He finally looked up, his eyes pools of guilt and regret.   
“I do not blame you,” I said simply.   
“What?”   
“I do not blame you.”   
“What-what do you mean?”   
“I have seen men like you before. Somehow the government gets you and forces you to do their will. But you do not have evil eyes as the politicians do. You did not want to do what you were forced to do. I have seen many like you in Russia.”   
“You don’t blame me,” Jason spoke slowly, “and yet you are terrified of me.”   
I didn’t answer.   
“How does that work, Irena?”   
I didn’t look at him. “You are powerful enough to kill me. Anytime you decide I’m not worth your time.”  
“But I won’t decide that. Look at me, Irena.” I did, feeling my breath shake. “I won’t hurt you. I will never hurt you. Not again.” he added in a lower tone.   
I sighed and sank onto my bed. We were silent for a long while, and I was fighting off tears. Eventually Jason spoke. “We need to cut your hair.”   
“What?” I brought a hand up to my head.   
“We’ve gotta cut it. The less you look like yourself, the safer we are.” He rose, as if going to search for scissors.   
“But,” I stammered. “It will be curly in the morning.” I had just lost my blondeness. I didn’t want to lose my length, too.   
Jason looked confused. “But it was straight…”   
I couldn’t help but smile a bit at his cluelessness. “That’s because I straighten it. With a flat iron. Naturally it is curly.”   
The confusion hadn’t appeared to clear up. “Oh,” he paused, and then asked almost sheepishly, “What’s a flat iron?”   
I smiled again. “It’s like two hot metal plates that you use to get curls out of your hair.”   
“Why do you do that?”   
“Because maybe you like your hair better straight.”   
“Oh,.   
“Did I get all the blonde dyed?” I turned my head so he could see.   
“Yeah, yeah, it looks good,”   
Another silence.   
“You must think I’m pretty dumb.” Jason’s mouth was turning up at the corners.   
“Why?”   
“I didn’t know what a flat iron was.”   
I smiled for the third time. “Well, I mean, you’re a man.”   
He gave me a bit of an impish grin, and then silence reigned again, during which I tried to fight off fatigue. In doing so I went to one of the windows and leaned my head against the glass.   
“Hey! Get away from there!” Jason almost shouted.   
I jumped, turned toward him. His face softened. “It’s just that I don’t want you being seen.” He paused, seeing the fear that had returned to my face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted.”   
I didn’t answer, instead returning to my bed. He watched me. “You can sleep, Irena. You need to sleep.” When I didn’t move, he continued, “You want the gun? That way, you don’t needa worry about me.”   
I brought my knees up to my chest and hid my face. He sighed deeply and placed the gun on the floor next to my bed. “There. I’m going to sleep. Mind if I turn the light off?”   
I shook my head slightly, and it was dark. I fought sleep for a long time, in fact, I don’t even remember falling asleep, but before I knew it Jason was calling my name and we were on the move again.   
He sent me into a bakery to get breakfast, which we ate without too many words. All I wanted to do was sleep, or cry, but I decided that the first would be a better option. Jason had been good to his word so far. I had awakened from every sleep safe and sound.   
So I passed out without a word, waking only when Jason had stopped the car. We were in a McDonald’s drive through, and he was ordering food. “What do you want to drink?” he asked, never looking at me. How had he known I was awake?   
“Um...Sprite.”   
Silence for a little while after I had thanked him for the food, but it was not uncomfortable. The silences between us weren’t. Instead they felt fitting to the relationship we were developing. He didn’t seem to care what I said or did, or rather didn’t, unless it was to ensure my safety.   
Eventually I asked, “Where are we going today?”   
“Warsaw.”  
“Poland? Do you speak Polish? Because I am not going to be able to get us a room there.”   
He chuckled. “That’s fine. I can do it. I’m not that worried. We’ve gone over a day without being chased.”   
I felt a knot in my stomach, and didn’t answer.   
In a little while, Jason started messing with the radio. “What do you wanna listen to?”   
“I don’t care.”   
“No, really, Irena. What do you want?”   
“I like American music.”   
He found some, but then was silent, staring straight ahead, but not seeing. Remembering.   
He was sad. So sad. And so earnest, trying to do good, to take care of me. He even understood my fear of him. He didn’t seem like someone who would want to be an assassin. I wondered about that. I knew that he felt a deep regret about my parents. I could see it every time he looked at me, hatred of himself and of what he’d done. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t angry with him, that I was just scared and full of sorrow. I wanted to lift my burden off his shoulders.   
But I didn’t know how.   
So I just asked, “Jason, how did you come to work for those evil people?”   
He turned, studying me in a moment. “They told me I was going to save American lives.” he said it heavily, with that same caustic tone he’d taken when he offered me his gun for the first time.   
“And did you?”  
He sighed. “I don’t know.”   
“Jason-” I stopped short. He didn’t look at me, giving me time or the allowance to not speak at all. “Please,” I continued, “don’t be angry with yourself about...my parents.”   
“Aren’t you angry with me?”   
“I’m angry, yes, but not with you. I’m angry at the people who made you do it.”   
His grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “Me too.” It was quiet, but full of power.  
I knew I should have been afraid when he sounded that way, but I wasn’t. The same anger lived inside both of us, but it wasn’t going to turn him against me.   
I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello. How is everyone?  
> I know this chapter is SUPER SHORT, but I feel that the shortness is appropriate to the story.   
> But really, who knows?  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!

I had a dream that night. About my mother. I saw her face, her smile, felt her love for me. And then she was on the ground in that hotel room in Berlin, bloody, with a gun in her hand. Jason was not there, but in the shadows lurked evil faceless men who I somehow knew were the true killers of my mother.   
I woke with a sharp cry, sitting straight up in the bed in our hotel room. Jason, who had been sleeping on the floor, was by my side in an instant. “Irena?”   
I looked at him. “It was just a dream,” I murmured, shifting so that I was sitting on the opposite edge of the bed. I felt it sink under Jason’s weight, his hand come to rest on my shoulder. I knew I should have recoiled at his touch, but I didn’t. As he settled next to me, I didn’t move.   
He sat with me in silence, his hand having come to rest on his own thigh. Silent tears coursed down my face.   
“I have dreams too,” he murmured.   
I turned to look at him, but didn’t answer.   
He breathed out. “Oh, God, Irena.” He reached for my hand and began turning it over in his own. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this, but I knew that he was trying to comfort me, fighting with his own guilt.   
“Jason.” I turned so I could see his face fully. “Look at me. ” When his eyes were on my face, I continued. “I know you won’t hurt me. I am not afraid of you.”   
It was abrupt, but he needed to know it.   
His grip tightened on my hand, and he didn’t let go for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone...who's still here :p  
> Another short chapter...sorry!  
> Thanks for reading! :D

Eventually Jason returned to the floor, and I laid back down on the pillow. I didn’t sleep.   
Once we were in the car though, I passed out.   
For about 10 minutes.   
And then Jason was picking up speed, swerving, shouting at me to keep my head down.   
I knew what was happening. I didn’t have to ask. Someone had finally caught up to us.   
Or someones.   
We were being followed by at least three cars, trying to head us off and trap us between them.   
Jason bumped the car from road to road, side street to side street, but we couldn’t shake them. He fumbled around in the back of the car and pulled out another pistol.   
“Irena.” Gentleness, intensity, regret. “If anything gets level with your window, I need you to shoot. Keep the barrel pointed out the window, and we’ll be fine.”   
I inhaled sharply, but took the gun. I was scared, but I was angry too. Angry at the people who had done this to me. People who had forced Jason to kill my parents, throwing both of us into a tailspin, ruining both of our lives.   
Something did get level with my window, and I did shoot. I didn’t hesitate.   
I killed the driver.   
His car swerved and crashed.   
I dropped the gun onto the floor and my head into my hands.   
I had killed someone.   
The thought felt dry, indigestible.   
I had killed someone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!   
> I've got another longer chapter this time around...hopefully yay for you guys?  
> Also, if anyone catches my Macbeth reference, please, please, please let me know! AP Lit nerds unite!  
> Anyway, before I scare anyone else away, thank you so much for reading!!

With one less pursuer, Jason was easily able to get us free.   
He kept driving, quickly, for a long time and instead of staying in Berlin that night, as he had planned, he found an out of the way place somewhere in between Dusseldorf and Essen.   
We ditched the car a way away from the place we stayed, gathering up what things we needed (I kept the extra jacket he had given me in the Ukraine) and arriving on foot at the hotel.   
Jason had to pay for our rooms because I didn’t speak German, but he did so with his head down and mumbled out of the side of his mouth. As soon as we could, we turned into the darkness of the hallway and found our room.   
\--  
We both took showers that night. I was desperate to be clean. It was the first time since being with Jason that I felt safe enough to take all my clothes off-to be that vulnerable-even though it was behind a closed door.   
Our experience that day had changed the air between us. I felt that we were pushed closer, forced to huddle together for safety because the world outside was so perilous.   
I hoped that the water would make me feel clean, would wash the blood of my crime off of my hands.   
But when I turned the shower off, I didn’t feel any cleaner.   
Jason knocked on the door of the bathroom. Wrapping a towel tightly around my body, I opened it and peeked around the edge. He was holding a faded t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Thought you might want something clean to wear.” He handed them to me sheepishly, guilt marking his face.   
I took them, and somehow forced out a “thanks.” Part of me knew I should be more polite, but I was too occupied with my own pain.   
I slipped the clothes on. They were too big for me, but they were clean, and if my body was going to remain filthy-feeling, then it was nice to have clean clothes.   
I stepped out of the bathroom and nodded at Jason that it was his turn, and then curled up on one of the double beds in the room, my back to the bathroom door.   
I didn’t want to think.   
I had to think.   
I tried to shut out the film that kept playing over and over in my mind. My finger on the trigger, the bullet it the man’s face. Blood. Death.   
Death at my hands.   
I could feel my body shaking, but I couldn’t stop it.   
The shower went silent. The bathroom door opened. Jason crossed the floor. I felt his weight on the bed. I didn’t move.   
Part of me wanted him to speak, to reassure me as he had done the night before. Part of me wanted to be alone with my pain.   
He didn’t speak.   
The bed shifted, and he rose and crossed so he was kneeling in front of me. He looked me in the eyes, took my hand in a way that was familiar now. “Irena.” It was one word, but it carried the weight of thousands. The gentleness and intensity were ever present, but they were laced with pain, guilt, regret, and understanding.  
His hand felt restless against mine, like he wanted to pull me close to him, but instead he settled on the floor beside my bed and remained there, silent and sentinel-like.   
\--  
Late into the night I fell into a restless sleep, charged with images from the day.   
Finally I opened my eyes, and with cold resolve slipped out of bed.   
“Irena?”   
“Just stretching my legs,” I murmured. “Go back to sleep.” My fingers found the cold metal of the gun lying on the solitary table in the room. I lifted it gently into my palm.   
“Irena.”   
I looked back. Jason was standing beside my bed, his eyes locked onto me. “Irena.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper.   
“There is so much blood on my hands. I tried to wash it off, but it won’t go away. It will never go away.” My fingers tightened on the barrel of the gun. “You don’t feel anything when you’re dead.” I spoke as if in a trance. “My parents don’t feel anything. The man I-” I couldn’t bring myself to say it, “he doesn’t feel anything. I won’t feel anything.”  
Jason nearly vaulted over the bed, and was suddenly standing in front of it, much nearer to me.   
I cocked the gun.   
“Irena.”   
I looked him in the face. “I am not afraid of you, Jason.”   
I raised the gun to my head.   
He moved like lightning. In one swift action he knocked the gun from my hands and pulled my back tight against his front.   
I cried out, and his hand was over my mouth in an instant. I tried to bite his fingers, but couldn’t get at them. I kicked against his shins as hard as I could, elbowed him in the ribs, and smashed at his chin with my head.   
He fell back onto the bed, still gripping me tightly, and curled his body around mine in an effort to control me. One hand still covered my mouth.  
His muscles were hardened, and I was weary from much sadness and little sleep, so the struggle didn’t last long. I subsided into a violent shaking, and his hand moved from my mouth to my waist, more cradling than restraining now.   
I was conscious of nothing but the shaking, and some kind of vague, tearing pain.   
Someone was repeating my name, over and over. “Irena.”   
It was Jason.   
“Irena.”   
He was curled around me, his body keeping mine still.   
“Irena.”   
“Jason?”   
He sighed in relief. “Irena.”   
And then the tears came, fast and hard, racking my body. Gently Jason turned me toward him so I was crying into his chest. He stroked my hair and let me sob.   
Eventually I settled against him, and drifted into some kind of unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another short chapter. This one makes me sad :(  
> Thank you guys so much for reading!

When I woke, Jason was standing at the window, his back to me. It was fully light outside, the sun shining and the sky blue.   
I didn’t think I had moved, but Jason turned from the window to look at me intently. He crossed the floor quickly and sat on the edge of the bed. His hand found mine as if in a reflex action, but he didn’t speak, instead staring straight in front of him.  
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.   
Then he spoke. “Irena.” He waited until I was looking at him. “If you hadn’t used that gun yesterday, we would have died.”   
“I know.” my voice was hoarse.   
“It was in self-defense. You did nothing wrong.”   
“Didn’t I?” I asked sitting up. “I-I killed someone, Jason.”   
“To protect yourself.”  
“I don’t care about myself.”   
He gave me a sidelong look. “I understand that. I’ve killed people too, Irena. You should know that better than anyone. And at least what you did-” he paused and seemed to be struggling with himself, “it was fair. You had a reason.”   
“But with yours-it wasn’t your choice. You were forced. I had a choice. No one was making me kill. And I still did it.”   
Jason’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I did,” he said quietly. “I told you to shoot him.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Another short chapter...  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thank you SO MUCH for reading!

Regretfully Jason informed me that we needed to move on. He thought maybe if he could get me into England I’d be safe. He said he’d feel it out when we got there. We’d take the train to Calais, France, and from there take the ferry to Dover.   
We took a bus into Dusseldorf. The ride was about a half hour, and we didn’t speak the whole way. I was thinking about what Jason had said, that he was the one who had made me kill our pursuer. I didn’t want to believe it. I had begun to hurt for Jason, what he had been through, and even to trust him...to some extent. He took care of me, trying to make up for what he had done, but I didn’t feel like an obligation. He actually cared about be.   
He could understand my pain, the nightmares, the guilt. He didn’t expect me to “move on and be ok.” When I was with him, it felt like I was just living. I wasn’t performing or forcing myself to be alright.   
So I didn’t want to believe that I had killed because Jason made me. I didn’t want that to separate me from the one person who could understand something of what I had been through.   
After our bus ride, we bought tickets and boarded a train that would get us part of the way to Calais in about six hours. We’d have to change three times after that.   
After the first change, once we were settled in our car, Jason stood at the door in front of our private car, his back to me. I could see fatigue in the lines of his body.   
“You should sleep.” I broke a long, uncomfortable silence.   
He didn’t turn around. “Can’t. I need to keep an eye out.”   
“I can do that,” I countered. “C’mon and go to sleep.”   
“It’s ok.”   
Another uncomfortable silence ensued, during which I was engaged in an intense internal dialogue. I thought carefully about what Jason had said, that he was the one who had made me kill the man. If he did, it wasn’t in the same way that he had been forced to kill. If I had refused, there would have been no punishment from him.   
It had been my choice.   
I was able to face that thought, but I shied away from the next one. The memory of my anger before pulling the trigger.   
No! I wouldn’t think about that. I couldn’t-I didn’t want to believe that I had been controlled by my own rage.  
But now that I knew the truth, I had to tell Jason, had to ease his mind.   
So I stood and crossed the car to stand next to him. “It wasn’t your fault,” I began, “What happened yesterday. It-was my decision.”   
His face had not changed when I spoke, and I wondered if he was ignoring me. But then he spoke quietly, staring straight ahead. “But I told you to do it.”   
“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me if I didn’t do it. I did it because-” I hesitated, dodging that thought again, “because I chose to.”   
He didn’t answer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe...another short chapter.   
> I actually beefed it up before posting it, though, so you can just imagine how short it was before...  
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading and...enjoy!

After our third change, when we had only about an hour and a half until Calais, Jason thought it finally safe enough to venture into the dining car.   
I wasn’t very hungry. My stomach was tied all in knots.   
I felt as if I was mourning my parents for the first time. Jason’s confession had thrown all my emotions and coping mechanisms completely out of whack. I was suddenly able to grieve in full, untempered by the belief that it had been my own mother who had brought the ruin upon my life. I could remember her with peace, warmth, and sorrow, not confusion and hurt. This was a gift Jason had given me, but it came at a price. I was losing my family all over again.   
Sitting in that dining car, trying to choke down some food, I came face to face with my own foreignness. I was surrounded by strangers, all speaking French, German, anything but what I spoke. And the man I was traveling with spoke English to me, though I longed to hear my native tongue.   
But right now, this man wasn’t speaking any language to me. He was concentrating doggedly on his sandwich and coffee, his guilt a void opened between us. He hadn’t been right since the day when I killed that man.   
He thought he was doing what was right for me, distancing himself to keep from hurting me further, but he was only inflicting deeper pain. As my grief for my parents and longing for my homeland threatened to drown me, the one person I could trust to hold onto me until I could come up for air had suddenly drawn his hand away, leaving me to flounder in the water alone.   
-  
We made it safely to Calais but took a later ferry to Dover than Jason had originally planned. He thought he might have seen someone on the train, and wanted to make sure we were safe. He instructed me to pull up the hood of the jacket that was practically part of my body now, and kept us to the shadows until we boarded the late ferry.   
Once on the ferry, Jason wouldn’t let us sit still. He drug me all over that ferry to avoid pursuers, and every time we stopped, I would sink down and fall asleep instantly. We ate a little bit and got some coffee to try and keep us awake. We were able to chuckle a bit at our mutual fatigue.  
It was dark when we made it to Dover, but I could see something glinting white on the shore. “Are those the white cliffs of Dover?” I looked at Jason expectantly.   
“Yeah.”   
“Oh, I’ve heard about those!” I rusehd to the window to get a better view, and could just barely make out the hulking outline of the fluorescent white cliffs.   
Jason didn’t follow me, but when I glanced back, he had a bit of a smile on his face. No doubt he had seen these cliffs plenty of times before, but I was seeing them for the first time and I suppose he enjoyed watching my reaction.   
When we landed and disembarked, we took a taxi to a small hotel in Dover. “I was planning to make it to Liverpool tonight,” Jason had murmured once we were in the backseat of the cab, “but I need to sleep.”   
I smiled a bit. “Finally.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy Monday?  
> Oh, well it's almost over, anyway.   
> Here's a bit of a longer chapter :)  
> I feel kinda blah about it...but I wanted to get it up...don't me angry with me!  
> Thank you guys so much for reading!!

Chapter 10  
In our small hotel room in Dover, there was only one bed. Jason insisted in sleeping on the floor. We both took showers and collapsed immediately afterward.  
Curled up on my side, I couldn’t hold it back any longer. The tears started pouring out. The bed felt so big, like it was going to suffocate me. I wanted my mom desperately, to smooth my hair and kiss my face, assure me that everything would be ok, that she would always be there for me. I wanted to go home to Russia, to speak my language, to be safe.   
I could hear my sobs and gasps for breath, certain that Jason was listening and even more certain that in a moment he would be there, beside me, taking my hand in his. I was ready to lean into him and cry into his shoulder. I wanted someone, anyone, to save me.   
But he never came.   
I heard him shifting on the floor, but he never got up.   
My body grew rigid, pressing into the bed. I shut my eyes against the darkness and prayed for sleep.   
\--  
In the morning, I woke to Jason moving softly around the room, preparing to leave. I watched him, not offering to help nor speaking until he turned to look at me.   
“We head to Liverpool today,” he announced, “And from there, Dublin.” He paused. “And then I leave you be. You’re safer without me.”  
I nodded curtly, unwilling to admit to myself or to him that the idea of being all alone in Ireland made my stomach jolt. I didn’t want Jason’s help, I told myself. What good was he? He was too afraid of hurting me to even come near me anymore.   
\--  
We got some breakfast in Dover, and then boarded a train for Liverpool.   
As with the day before, I sat on the bench in our private car and Jason stood in the doorway. This time, I made no to effort to speak to him, but bored into his back with my eyes before pulling up the hood of my jacket and staring out the window.   
At least, I tried to stare, but my vision was obscured by hot, angry tears. I was angry with Ireland for being a country that I was going to have to live in, angry at the murder of my parents, angry at Jason, who was no longer my friend.   
I wanted to stand up and shout at the world, to pummel it all, to scream and then to collapse in a heap on the ground. And then I wanted someone to pick me up, dust me off, and tell me it was going to be alright.   
\--  
We made it to Liverpool by about 3:20, and continued on by another train to the Holyhead ferry in Wales. On this ride, I couldn’t help but feel Jason’s eyes on me whenever I turned away from him. When I looked at him, he would drop his eyes quickly, but not before I could catch the look on his face. It reflected the gentleness and intensity with which he always said my name.   
He hadn’t said it in a while. I missed the sound, but I told myself that I never wanted to hear my name from his lips again. That I would be happy to be rid of him once we were in Dublin.   
Toward the end of the ride, after our second change, he started getting jumpy, his legs jiggling. He repeated our travel plan to me, his eyes fixed intently on mine.   
I nodded, and didn’t speak. So he wanted to talk now? Well, he should have thought of that before he ignored me when I needed him most.   
\--  
In about three and a half hours, we were on the Holyhead ferry, the last leg of our journey before Jason and I would part ways permanently.   
I don’t care, I told myself.   
I don’t want him around anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy Wednesday! The week is almost over...we're gonna make it! :D  
> So, this isn't the shortest chapter ever, but it's not the longest either.   
> Also, I don't know if anyone has noticed, but I added one more chapter. There were some plot holes I needed to fill in. Hopefully I have...don't be too mean to me!   
> This chapter and the next are my favorite ones. I really loved writing them.   
> The bad news is, however, that I'm going away this weekend so I probably won't get the last chapter up until sometime next week. The suspense will make you enjoy it all the more, right? No? Oh, well, ok...  
> Alright, enough rambling. Thank you so much for reading!

We reached Dublin around ten o'clock at night and found yet another grimy, dingy place to stay. I think that Jason had intended to drop me off there and take his leave, but as he stood in the doorway of our room, shifting his eyes around it, he got fidgety and looked uncomfortable.   
“I think I should maybe stay just for tonight,” he offered. “Just to make sure everything is safe.”  
I shrugged. “Whatever you want.” I wouldn’t give in to my feelings, to allow myself to be pleased that he would be around for one more night. That maybe we could find a way to make things right before he went.   
As soon as we were settled, I laid down on my bed, but couldn’t sleep. Jason was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, across the room, his hands in his pockets and his head bent. I wanted to shout at him lay down and be quiet. The noise in my head was enough to deal with. It was the same old racket, grief, loneliness, frustration. It kept playing over and over like a skipping CD, but I couldn’t ignore it.   
After a long while, Jason stopped pacing. I felt him sit down on the edge of my bed and feel across the blanket, not looking at me, until his hand found mine.  
At his touch, all of the anger inside of me surged at him. It was his fault. All of it was his fault.   
I almost believed it.   
I flung his hand away. Rage bubbled up inside of me, as it had before I killed that man, sloshing and boiling. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I sat up, raised my hand and struck Jason on the side of the face.   
He made no sound, but his neck snapped backward with the force of the blow.   
Silence. Nothing but deafening silence.   
The anger faded as quickly as it had come, and I wanted to take back what I had done. It wasn’t Jason I was angry with, I knew that. I was angry with almost everything, but Jason? No. He was my companion, the lone person in this whole wide world who knew me.   
There still was no sound.   
I had to say something.   
“Jason,” I whispered, my voice betraying the tears on my face.  
“Irena.” He said my name the way he always had. He took hold of my arm and pulled me toward him roughly, enveloping me in his arms.   
He held me tight against him for a long time, and then I pulled away enough to look at his face, my eyes resting on the spot where I had hit him and then flitting to meet his. I hoped they would speak for me.   
“Irena,” he murmured, and I knew that they had.   
The noise in my mind was quieted, and though it was not completely silenced, I could see clearly for the first time in a while. I leaned forward and rested my cheek against his shoulder.  
In that moment, all was forgiven. The space between us had been crossed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The last one. I've been dreading it.   
> This has been so amazing. I can't thank all of you enough for all of your support and reads. When I posted the first chapter, I had no idea if anyone at all would care for my story. And now, well, now I'm really sad to have to bring it to a close.   
> I've been obsessing over a sequel to this fic, but I've got a ton of other projects going on right now (not fics, sorry), so if I were to write one it would not be soon. And I wanna be very careful not to mar this story with a mediocre sequel.   
> I'm also thinking about an Avengers fic, but, again, it'll be a while if it ever happens.  
> I'm so sorry about how short this chapter is.   
> Thank you all so much for this wonderful adventure!

After a long time, Jason spoke. “I don’t want to leave you tomorrow.”   
“I don’t want to be alone.”   
“Irena-”  
“I know, Jason. I know, and I don’t give a damn about the danger.” I shifted so I was looking him in the face. “Don’t leave me alone.”   
“Irena.” He pulled me tighter to him, resting his forehead against mine.   
“Please, Jason,” I begged.   
He wiped the last remains of tears from my face. “I won’t leave you.”


End file.
